miakate-writes

[miakate-writes]

damage control ᯓ caitvi ᯓ masterlist

Violet "Vi" Lanes is the hottest name on the track - and a walking PR disaster. With a string of viral outbursts and a reputation for wrecking interviews, she's one scandal away from losing it all. Enter Caitlyn Kiramman, a cool-headed, no-nonsense manager brought in to save Vi's career before it crashes and burns. But Caitlyn wasn't expecting a client who flirts as fast as she runs, and Vi wasn't expecting her new manager to be so... infuriatingly irresistible. With an upcoming championship, the spotlight burning brighter, and the pressure mounting, the two are forced into each other's orbit.

Read on your preferred site!: AO3 & Wattpad

Chapters ᯓ

1 ᯓ violet ᯓ welcome to the playground

2 ᯓ caitlyn ᯓ happy progress day!

[miakate-writes]

damage control ᯓ caitvi

2 ᯓ caitlyn ᯓ happy progress day!

read on your preferred site!: AO3 & Wattpad

The clock on the wall ticked past 2:10PM. I folded my hands neatly on the conference table, crossed one ankle over the other, and waited.

Patience was a practiced skill - like marksmanship, or PR strategy, or surviving another drop in from one Jayce Talis. Violet Lanes was late, of course. No surprise. I had read the reports.

Across from me, Jayce sat half-perched on the table’s edge, sleeves rolled, tie loose, grinning like this was all entertainment.

“She’ll show,” he said casually, nudging a folder toward me with his foot. “Eventually.”

“I’m aware of her habits.” I flipped open the folder, eyes skimming the press clippings, sponsorship notes, and a thick wad of disciplinary reports. “Punctuality isn’t one of them.”

Jayce let out a low whistle. “You’re nervous.”

I arched a brow. “I’m prepared.”

“Same thing, Kiramman.”

He flashed that winning, annoyingly good-natured grin. Jayce had been my boss for two years and my friend for nearly a decade, ever since we met as interns and spent a summer chasing down runaway clients at music festivals. He’d always had a knack for charm, and was the one person that I could tolerate my parents choosing to promote instead of me. Today, however, I was tempted to throw the nearest pen at his head.

“She’s a handful,” Jayce went on. “But she’s electric. Fans love her. Brands will love her - once you sand off the rough edges.”

I glanced up from the file. “Is that why you sent her to me?”

His grin softened. “I sent her to you because you don’t flinch. And because Vander asked.”

I raised an eyebrow at him.

Jayce nodded, folding his arms. “Showed up at my office in person. Said she needed someone steady. Someone smart. Someone who wouldn’t give up on her when she mouths-off to reporters and sets Twitter on fire.” His mouth curved wryly. “Sound like anyone you know.”

I let out a slow breath. Vander. I’d only met him once - broad-shouldered, weathered, quiet as a mountain. The kind of man who looked at you and saw you. It was clear he saw Violet. That made me want to help her.

“She should be here soon,” Jayce murmured, pushing off the table. “Try not to kill each other.”

Alone, I straightened the notes, smoothed my skirt, and checked the clock again.

2:30PM.

I had read the headlines. I knew Violet would be the type of person to be late. But by half an hour?

“Track Star or Tabloid Catastrophe?” “Violet Lanes: Fastest Woman on the Field, Slowest Leaner Off It.” “Public Meltdown or Media Setup? What’s Really Behind Vi’s Outbursts.” The list of headlines went on.

Beneath the chaos and PR disasters was a runner with ferocious talent. And if you squinted, there was something magnetic in her defiance. She just hadn’t learned to control it yet.

A knock sounded - sharp, quick, almost impatient.

Before I could say “come in.” the door swung open.

She leaned against the frame, hands stuffed in the pockets of a threadbare bomber jacket, pink hair half-tamed, a cocky half-grin on her face.

“Hey,” Violet said, voice low and rough around the edges, like she’d been yelling at someone half an hour ago. “Sorry I’m late.”

I rose smoothly. “Miss Lanes.”

“Vi,” she corrected, stepping inside, eyes sweeping over me with undisguised curiosity. “And you’re Caitlyn.”

“I am.” I held out my hand for her to shake, instead watching how she ignored me, dropped down into the nearest chair, and raised an eyebrow at me.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Jayce walk past the door. He peered through the glass and snickered to himself. I took a deep breath. He was so buying me dinner later.

[miakate-writes]

damage control ᯓ caitvi

1 ᯓ violet ᯓ welcome to the playground

read on your preferred site!: AO3 & Wattpad

The headline hit before I even made it back to the locker room.

“Olympic Hopeful, Violet Lanes, Caught On Camera In Heated Exchange With Reporter.”

It was a blurry freeze-frame of me, eyes blazing, teeth bared in what looked way more like a snarl than the snappy comeback I remembered. Typical.

I shoved open the locker room door with my shoulder and kicked it shut behind me. My t-shirt peeled off of my damp skin, landing on the floor in a sorry heap. The place was mostly empty now, just the echo of feet on tile, the sharp smell of disinfectant, and the soft shake of a protein bottle.

Powder was cross-legged on the bench, shaking her neon-blue bottle like she was trying to stir up a cyclone inside. Her shoes were half untied, and her hoodie sleeves bunched at her elbows, a little smear of something green on her cheek from a smoothie she was halfway through inhaling.

“You’re trending,” she said, eyes glued to her phone. “#ViLanes, #TrackBrat, #PressMeltdown. You’re the trifecta.”

I groaned, flopping onto the bench beside her. “They get my good side?”

She flipped the screen toward me. I squinted. Mid-eye rolls. Sweaty hair. Practically feral. “No.” Powder said bluntly.

“Let me guess,” I scrubbed both hands over my face, breathing out through my fingers, “Coach’s already called?”

“Three missed calls. Vander too.”

That made me pause.

Vander wasn’t usually a caller. He was a “show up on your doorstep with groceries and a lecture” kind of guy. When he did ring, it meant something was burning down.

Powder leaned into me, shoulder to shoulder. “They’ll calm down. You were defending me.”

I shrugged one shoulder. The reporter had said something stupid about me needing a better nutritionist and I lost it. “ Doesn’t matter. They see ‘unhinged athlete,’ not ‘protective big sister,’ Pow.”

“Don’t want you blowing up your life for me.” She muttered.

“What else am I good at?”

My phone buzzed in my bag like an angry mosquito. Reluctantly, I dug it out. One message, along with the many missed calls.

Vander: Call me. I’m sorting this.

I grimaced. “He’s sorting it.”

Powder raised one blue eyebrow. “That fast?”

“The man has connections.” I huffed out a laugh.

Vander had been in my corner since I was twelve and turning schoolyard fights into a personal hobby. Ex-bouncer, bar owner, occasional substitute dad for every stray kid in the neighbourhood. He’d pulled me out of more fires than I could count. If Vander said he was sorting it out, it meant something was already in motion.

We stopped by his place that night - the bar half lit, chairs upended on tables, the smell of lemon oil and old whiskey hanging in the air. Vander was behind the bar, arms folded, talking into his phone in that low, careful voice he used when he was trying not to punch a wall.

When he saw us, he waved Powder over with a wink and handed her a Dr Pepper from under the counter. For me? Just a raised brow and a quiet, “sit tight, kid. I’ve got someone lined up.”

“Vander, I don’t need-” I tried before he cut me off.

“Sit tight.” And that was that.

By the next afternoon, Powder and I were sprawled across the couch in our shared apartment, eating takeaway Chinese straight from the box and watching old race footage on the TV.

“You’re faster in the last hundred now,” Powder said, pointing at the screen with her chopsticks. “Like, by a lot.”

“Thanks, coach.” I laughed around a mouthful of noodles.

She grinned, tipping sideways until her head found my shoulder. “Just don’t tell your real coach you skip cooldowns.”

“Snitch,” I managed to say before she poked me in the ribs and I let out a pitiful yelp.

A knock at the door interrupted what I predicted would quickly turn into a play fight and I jumped up, already halfway to the door when the knock sounded again.

On the other side of the door stood a tall man in a sharp suit, smiling like this was just a normal occurrence. “Violet Lanes?” He asked in a somehow serious and also upbeat voice.

“Who’s asking?” I asked skeptically.

“I’m from Kiramman & Co. Management. Vander set this up.” He handed me a folder, sleek and glossy, with a logo stamped in silver across the front. “Your new manager is expecting you tomorrow.”

I flipped the folder open. A name was printed neatly across the top.

Caitlyn Kiramman.

[miakate-writes]

my pride month contribution is my whole ao3 account which will be full of caitvi shit by the time summer is over

[miakate-writes]

a good review of my debut novel :)

buy 'when the stars aligned' here!

[miakate-writes]

my debut novel is officially out!

buy 'when the stars aligned' on amazon here!

[miakate-writes]

Hello, wonderful souls! 🤍🌍

I hope you're doing well. 🌿

Could you help me amplify my family's story and bring awareness to our struggle? 🙏🏻

💬 Please reblog my pinned post or consider donating just $5—your support could truly make a difference in saving lives amidst war and hardship.

Your kindness and voice matter more than you know. Thank you from the bottom of my heart! 🤍🌿

🕊️ @mosabsdr | Every share counts. 💫

xoxo

[miakate-writes]

yall im finally reading the nasa fic and i cannot stop thinking about how caitlyn says her astronaut

[miakate-writes]

Hello, wonderful souls! 🤍🌍

I hope you're doing well. 🌿

Could you help me amplify my family's story and bring awareness to our struggle? 🙏🏻

💬 Please reblog my pinned post or consider donating just $5—your support could truly make a difference in saving lives amidst war and hardship.

Your kindness and voice matter more than you know. Thank you from the bottom of my heart! 🤍🌿

🕊️ @mosabsdr | Every share counts. 💫

<3

[miakate-writes]

Girllll I just know the Ides of March are gonna hit different this year 😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨

[miakate-writes]

cue the montage ✮ wes bennett [chapter 1]

[word count: 1.4k]

Their mother’s death was harder on Charlie than it was on Liz. Not that she was trying to discount Liz’s grief, which of course was just as valid.

Liz just managed to carry on. Charlie couldn’t even watch a stupid rom-com. How was it that such a small thing as a movie could affect her so much? Where Liz found solace in the box of movies their mother left behind, Charlie dreaded anytime they were on the tv. They reminded her of all the times their mum would watch them with the two of them, Liz commenting on the soundtrack and Charlie on the videography.

So much time had passed and still… no rom-coms were allowed to be on in her presence, she threw out all romance books too, even magazines, knowing that the articles would be about celebrity couples and would inevitably awaken that something inside her.

So, when Liz and Co. decided to host a movie night in the room directly underneath Charlie’s bedroom, she felt that all-too familiar static buzzing behind her eyes. She stayed in bed, willing herself to tune it out; she turned up an old episode of ‘Criminal Minds,’ letting the low voice of Aaron Hotchner drown out the distant sound of whatever over-the-top romantic comedy Liz had picked.

It didn’t work.

A knock on her door.

Charlie ignored it.

“Charlie.” Liz called through the door gently. The knob turned and Liz poked her head in, an expectant smile already on her face. “Come down, we’re watching ‘10 Things I Hate About You.’”

Charlie barely glanced away from her laptop. “And?”

Liz sighed dramatically. “And… its iconic.” She stepped fully into the room, arms crossed like she was ready for a full debate. “It’s literally one of the best rom-coms of all time. You’d love it if you actually gave it a chance.”

Charlie snorted, clicking pause on her episode. ‘Criminal Minds’ froze on a grainy crime scene photo, a stark contrast to whatever nonsense was happening downstairs.

“Come on. It’s tradition.” Liz groaned, flopping onto the edge of her bed, just wanting to spend time with her sister.

That’s the thing. It was a tradition. Past tense.

Charlie didn’t answer, staring at the laptop screen like she could will Liz into disappearing and allowing her to wallow.

After a long pause, Liz sighed and stood back up. “Mom would’ve loved this.” She said softly.

Charlie squeezed her eyes shut. A low blow. Liz didn’t really know how Charlie felt about the whole thing, they’d never really spoken about it. So, as much as she knew that Liz wasn’t trying to hurt her or to be spiteful, it still got her.

The door clicked shut behind Liz, but the words stayed, settling heavily onto Charlie’s chest.

˙✧˖°🍿 ༘ ⋆｡° Two hours later . ݁₊ ⊹ . 📽.ᐟ

Charlie wasn’t hiding.

She was simply strategically avoiding unnecessary social interactions. That was different.

Her stomach, however, had no concept of dignity. It growled - loud and accusing - reminding her that, in her stubbornness, she had skipped dinner. Not on purpose, of course. But, the moment Liz started lovingly arranging her stack of “Mom’s favourite rom-coms” for the group, Charlie had officially lost her appetite.

And now? Now she was starving. Which, of course presented a problem.

Going downstairs meant risking everything. The movie night war zone was still in full effect. If she wasn’t careful, she’d be dragged into a conversation about “cinematic masterpieces that define a generation” (Liz’s words) or, worse, forced to endure a spontaneous quiz on which 90s rom-com boyfriend was “her type.”

(None of them, obviously. Her type - if she had to have one - was emotionally unavailable FBI agents solving murders. She had standards.)

Still. She needed snacks.

Charlie cracked her bedroom door open a fraction of an inch, eyes narrowing as she listened. Laughter floated up from the living room. The movie was still playing - something obnoxiously upbeat, with far too much whimsical background music.

The coast was clear.

She stepped into the hallway with the practiced grace of someone evading capture.

Step. Pause. Listen.

Nothing.

She moved down the hallway, avoiding the one floorboard she knew would creak. This was stealth mode activated. Tactical precision. She should be in and out in under a minute.

Charlie reached the top of the staircase, gripping the banister like it was ‘Mission Impossible.’

One step. Then another. And a miscalculated third step.

Her sock slipped against the wood - just slightly - but it was enough to send her foot colliding with the next step.

Charlie froze, her body rigid. Her entire life flashed before her eyes. Okay, maybe that’s a bit dramatic. But, she was panicked.

She remained perfectly still, waiting for the inevitable sound of Liz’s voice calling her out. But… silence.

Once she made it to the kitchen, she moved quickly. The fridge was right there, she was so close. Charlie yanked the door open, grabbed a can of Coke and was mid-search for something snack-worthy when-

“Well, well, well.”

Charlie flinched so violently she nearly smacked herself in the face with the fridge door.

That voice.

That smug, infuriating, can’t-mind-his-own-business voice.

“If it isn’t the anti-rom-com queen herself.”

No. No, no, no.

She turned slowly - painstakingly slowly - already knowing what she’d see.

Wes Bennett.

Casually perched on the counter, arms crossed, watching her like he’d just caught her breaking into his house, instead of her own damn kitchen.

Charlie narrowed her eyes.

How. Was. He. Everywhere.

It was so typical. Wes Bennett had been lurking in her life since childhood, always popping up at the worst possible moments with that same stupid, self-satisfied grin.

When they were kids he used to chase her and Liz around the neighbourhood with frogs, laughing when she screamed. In middle school, he’d stolen the last piece of birthday cake at her own party and then shrugged when she yelled at him. And now? Now, he’d upgraded to showing up in her kitchen uninvited and making unsolicited commentary on her movie preferences.

She sighed, rubbing a hand down her face. “Why are you even here?”

Wes tilted his head, pretending to think about it. “Well, I live next door. And Liz is my friend. And your kitchen has good snacks.” He gestured towards the bag of popcorn in her hand. “Clearly, you agree.”

Charlie ignored him and went to grab a glass from the cabinet. If she didn’t acknowledge him, maybe he’d disappear.

No such luck.

“So.” He said, hopping off the counter and leaning against it instead. “Not even one movie? That’s a little extreme, Charlotte.”

Charlie froze mid-motion. She hadn’t heard anyone call her that in a while, and she felt like it jump-started her, sent her into fight or flight.

She turned around slowly, leveling him with a glare. “Don’t call me that.”

Wes’ smirk widened. “Why not? It’s your name.”

“Yeah… No one calls me that.”

“Well.” He said, annoyingly casual. “They do now.”

Charlie set the glass down with a little too much force.

“Whoa, whoa.” He raised his hands, grinning. “No need for violence, Charlotte.”

Her jaw clenched.

Wes just laughed, grabbing a bottle of water from the counter. He was so lucky that she had no weapons within reach.

Charlie exhaled slowly, snatched her soda from the counter, and turned toward the stairs. If she didn’t leave now, she’d be on trial for homicide by morning.

“Wait.”

She stopped, shoulders tense.

His voice was light, teasing, but there was something annoyingly confident beneath it.

“One day, Buxbaum, you’re gonna cave. And when you do, I’m picking the movie.”

Charlie didn’t turn around. Didn’t give him the satisfaction of a response. Just kept walking, pretending she wasn’t still hearing his voice in her head long after she shut her bedroom door.

One day, Buxbaum, you’re gonna cave.

God, she hated him.

[miakate-writes]

go watch my realistic week in my life!! 📖🤍

[miakate-writes]

Cue The Montage: A Wes Bennett fic

On wattpad and ao3 :D

[miakate-writes]

Alex Downes 🥐☕

aaaand here is the second oc from this post :)

alex (character b) is a procrastinating artist who would rather did than have a phone call - unless it’s her girlfriend ofc

[miakate-writes]

hey guys, go watch my first youtube video in a while! 🎀🪽

https://youtu.be/umf40-rFYh4

[miakate-writes]

hey guys, go watch my first youtube video in a while! 🎀🪽

https://youtu.be/umf40-rFYh4

[miakate-writes]

Evelyn Morgan 🎀🪽

as promised in this post, here’s the first oc :)

this is Evelyn (previously known as character A) she’s an extravert, a list-maker and she loves bugs and her girlfriend